Murder by Numbers
by Sleeper in the Valley
Summary: What happens when our least-favorite lab guy ticks off the team? Find out in this beer drinking, evidence eating, fun filled adventure!
1. Murder by Numbers

Disclaimer: Okay, put all your pens and legality away. I don't own ANYTHING in this story, except the twisted ideas and events. Everyone, except the deranged clown belongs to whomever owns CSI, and that is not me.  
  
Author's Notes: This is my first fic, so be brutal in your reviews, PLEASE. Keep in mind that this is also my first humor piece and it was also a coffee-induced fit of rage after viewing "Crash and Burn".  
  
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I didn't want to do it. I really didn't. Wait, no, scratch that. It felt really good, but killer's confessions usually don't start that way. I figured I'd add some dramatic tension.  
  
Well, enough of that. This guy had really been pissing me off for quite some time. Smug expression, bad attitude, sucking up to the boss whenever her could. I was in ballistics before, when I got his page. Maybe it had been building up in me; maybe I was just stretched too thin. Maybe I was sick of how he treated everyone else. Maybe it was the smiley face that he added at the end of the text message, I guess I'll never know.  
  
I remember taking the gun from Ballistics. I remember him hunched over his microscope, trying to look busy. I asked him if he wanted to play a game. He nodded feverishly, so I threw him and apple, and instructed him to put it on his head. He asked what we were playing and I said "William Tell". Which was a mistake, because he then started rattling off a narrative of Tell's life to impress me. It didn't. Anyway, old Willy was barely born before I plugged him. I wanted to get it just right so the bullet would knock the apple off his head after piercing his cranial cavity, but he moved too much and I got his trachea instead. Eh, you win some, you loose some. If only he didn't gesticulate so wildly while portraying Tell's mother's early teenage life.  
  
So as he was gasping on the floor, she came in. We shared a silent moment of understanding before she moved to help me finish him off. Now that's why Las Vegas has one of the top crime labs in the nation, teamwork. 


	2. One Witness, Hold the Tomato

Hmm. I remember drinking Greg's special Hawaiian blend in the break room. I remember picking broccoli out of the freeway- sized gap between my teeth. I remember throwing darts at my ex-boyfriend's picture. Oh, then I heard the gunshot. Yeah. So I got up, and went to the bathroom. But on my way there, I heard maniacal laughter coming from the Chem Lab. Now that got my attention. So I checked it out on my way back from the little girls' room.  
  
I could barely believe my eyes. Inside me a rush of emotions clouded my thoughts - none of which were horror, shock, or dismay. Lucky I like to look important and carry my gun around with me on a usual basis, because the old geezer didn't even kill him. So I whipped ol' Bessy out and finished him off. I was pondering how we could make it look like he was juggling apples when one accidentally slipped down his throat, choking him to death, when, lo and behold, he walks in, snapping a pair of fresh rubber gloves. 


	3. So, Fresh Talc and a Swiss Army Corkscre...

Well, I had just finished running some DNA when I walked in. I was walking down the hall, preoccupied with the question of how they got the talc inside the rubber gloves, when I slammed into somebody, ricocheted off a cop, and crashed into a wall. It was okay, because I just happened to have my pockets bulging with fresh rubber gloves, so I put a new pair on. What? Oh, no, I don't know who's been stealing gloves from the supply closet.  
  
Anyway, they were both standing over the dead body, holding guns, hers was still smoking, but I figured the killer must have gotten away. Then it hit me, like, well, like a gunshot: am I wearing boxers or briefs?  
  
She told me to help them make the scene look like an accident. He told me about their juggling idea. It was good, but how were we going to get the apple down his throat, and how were we going to make it look like juggling with only one apple?! Then she suggested that he could have been juggling knives and an apple, as she produced a machete from that big belt of hers, and he supplied his Swiss Army knife, extending the corkscrew. I said it was brilliant, and proceeded to cut up the apple with the corkscrew. Then he waked in, whistling Dixie, and trying to get peanut butter off the roof of his mouth. 


	4. And They Say Gambling Doesn't Pay

Yeah, I was whistling Dixie while trying to get peanut butter off the roof of my mouth. It was a bet I had going with Nick. Won a free Tast-E-Freeze for it too. And they say gambling doesn't pay.  
  
Anyway, I was also trying to pull of my usual sexy but masculine saunter down the hallway. That's when my hip spasms, and the next thing I know, I'm in the Chem Lab. Go figure.  
  
So lab boy filled me in, and instructed me to put the machete down his throat. The dead guy, not lab boy, although I have done that for him in the past. I figured it would look more realistic as the murder weapon if I put the blade down his throat, but I didn't want to get yucky blood on my clean designer clothes. Hey, I'm not allowed to gamble anymore, where am I supposed to get money for clothes like these? I couldn't get a good hold of him as he was laying, halfway through a broken glass table, so I sat him up in the chair at the computer. That's where people who juggle knives and apples do it, right? Anyway, he wouldn't stay up, and lab boy accidentally ate the apple AND the bullet that killed dead guy, as we have now affectionately dubbed him. The whole thing was going to hell so I just shoved a microscope halfway into is mouth, and secured it with duct tape and a clothes hanger. I was busy duct taping him to the chair, when she came in with a more appealing alternative to tape.. 


	5. Stripping for Soup

Ha ha my assumption jumping readers. You are both right and wrong Sara Grissom! Keep reading for more boisterous mirth, and the thrilling conclusion, and thank you for all of your honest, and splendid reviews. Incidentally, the murder is by no means the source of the humour, however, as Billy Shakespeare said, every tragedy is a comedy. He also said: "Courage and comfort, all shall yet go well!" And he wasn't kidding about the happy dagger in Romeo and Juliet, for as the solution is revealed to you in two more chapters, all my sorrowful Greg fans will cry "Huzza!" with tumult. TRUST ME, AND KEEP READING..  
  
PS. If you hate my story, please have the testicular fortitude to at least post your name, and not remain anonymous as one of my fine flaming friends did. Thank you for your COURTESY.  
  
How did I walk into the lab? Oh, like this. See? You swing your shoulders like you own everyone in the building, mouth slightly open in a sign, yeah, like you've been working for the past six hours instead of giving lap dances to the rookie cops. Ooh, good, honey! I tell you, they thought I was a good dancer? You could beat me out any day of the week! Well, we'd have to work on that spare tire and the comb-over, but with the miracles they can work nowadays. The what? Oh, yeah that.  
  
I was looking for someone to boss around, give sage, comforting advice to, or arouse, whichever came first, when I saw the scene. I immediately whipped out my cell phone and ordered a medium cheese pizza for supper.  
  
I was about to leave, when I heard Afro man cursing his luck. He had just run out of duct tape. Now, I would have turned back if I heard that he had run out of something, or at the words duct tape, but you put those two things together and I'm all over that like skin-head at a beer convention.  
  
I was a little disappointed to find out that he just wanted help, but he let me do a striptease while I found something to tie the dead guy up with. After taking off my jacket, scarf, bailing twine, and lucky length of rope, I settled on the bra. It did the trick, and he was sitting up in no time. The dead guy was holding up pretty well himself, except for the growing bloodstain on his chest.  
  
I was standing there, naked from the waist up, the others were drinking beer and eating stale chips (leftover evidence from a case) when he walked in and said in a shocked voice. 


	6. REAL Friends Don't Let Friends be Left O...

Patience, my readers! I'm so glad that the MAJORITY of you enjoy this. Sara Grissom,my dear, you will find out soon enough (ahem, tomorrow) which parts you were right and wrong on! Now to continue with our adventure. _______________________________________________________  
  
'You guys are having a knife and apple juggling contest, drinking beer, and eating evidence, and you didn't invite me?!' I was also pretty mad when I saw they had already broken out the flavored microscopes without me. Dude, I had dibs on the cherry one, and they give it to some dead cross-dresser? Some friends. I was about to ditch them and find someone I could seduce with my blinding smile and dashing good looks when they offered me something shiny. I think it was a Swiss Army knife, but I wasn't sure. It didn't matter because that was flavored too! Tasted like apple.  
  
They told me everything that happened, but I didn't believe them for a second. After all, I'm not a CSI 1 anymore! I keep trying to tell that coroner's apprentice guy, David, all the important lessons I've learned, but he just keeps rolling his eyes and telling me crap I don't care about, like approximate time, and cause of death. Who needs that stuff anyway? I still don't know why I never get to work cases by myself.  
  
They tried to tell me that Grissom killed Hodges. It was clear to me that an enraged clown came in and started the party. Then he got pissed off that Hodges took the cherry flavored microscope, and embarrassed him to death by tying him up to a chair with a bra. Huh? What? Oh, that blood. No, that doesn't mean anything. Just forget about it. But I'm just guessing now, remember, where before why. We have to find the crime scene. 


	7. The End of the Insanity

Sara Grissom, my obsessed loon, bravo. That's fine, between obsession and flames, I'll choose obsession. I am, however, one step ahead of you. Here is the thrilling conclusion. This has been fun, and I'll see you next time. Thank you again for all of your reviews!  
  
Jim Brass here: well reader, I'm sure you've been following along. You've collected the evidence; you've heard what the CSIs have to say now let's see how your conclusion adds up. The first one was Grissom. He picks his nose and then eats it. Really! I've seen him do it! The second was Sara. She used my mug for that crap that Greg keeps bringing in. The third was Greg. We later found that he was lying to us. He wasn't wearing ANY underwear, at all, and he was just stalling for time with the old 'boxers or briefs' question. The fourth was Warrick; I'm really impressed with how his 'fro is coming along. He said he'd give me gambling tips if I take him to the casino. The fifth was Catherine. I must admit that it was brilliant of her to use her bra so creatively. The scarf, twine, and rope never would have worked! And the last was Nick. He's a damn fine CSI. That whole insane clown theory didn't check out, but he was close. We figure that the crime scene was actually fifty thousand miles away in an old Mongolian nomad campsite. See, Hodges stumbled into the space-time continuum, and wandered around with the nomads until they killed him for stealing all their kippers for himself. Then, in an attempt to make it look like an accident, pushed him back into the present, and here we find him. Grissom? No, he never would have figured that one out. He just isn't interested enough in human behavior. I'm sure he didn't know that Hodges loved kippers. So I had the team process the scene, strangely enough, all the evidence disappeared, but the stuff that counted remained. What? You think Grissom actually is the murderer? What he had to say sounded like a confession to you? Well, I was too busy thinking up appropriate clichés for the next case, and so I wasn't really listening. Well, I'm the boss. That's a common rookie mistake, but don't worry, you'll get better. Like my buddy Nick. Just let this be a lesson to you: Never trust a Mongolian nomad. 


End file.
